Twelve Minutes
by Dobby's Socks
Summary: What was the Doctor thinking in those twelve minutes he had to wire himself to the Pandorica? Set during "The Big Bang" Amy/Rory, hinted Doctor/River


**I don't know why I keep writing season five oneshots…I guess since it was the first season I ever saw, it'll always hold a special place in my heart. At any rate, here this is for your reading pleasure.**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Twelve Minutes**

"Come on! Move it!" He could hear his own voice echo from further up the stairs, and wasn't that funny? Hearing your voice come from a you who's not you was always a little absurd, and the Doctor almost laughed- but he couldn't, because that would have completely ruined the point of him pretending to be dead.

At last he heard Amy and Rory's footsteps fade as they ran after him from the past, and the Doctor braced his hands on either side of his body to begin the task of slowly, painstakingly pushing himself up.

"Restore…Restore…" the Dalek growled from the next room over, causing him to drop like a stone and accidentally knock his head against the marble steps. Ignoring his pounding skull for the moment, the Doctor listened frantically for the rusty broken bucket-on-wheels to roll away, out the side door where it would fly up to meet them on the roof. He had to avoid attracting its attention here, because then it wouldn't have enough power to shoot at them there and later shoot him. Or earlier shoot him. Time travel, impossible to keep track of, really.

That and he wasn't entirely sure he would survive another hit. Besides, the Doctor had work to do.

Once more he struggled to get up, finally rising to a sitting position, and a blue night guard's jacket slipped off his shoulders and slid down to rest in his lap. Where had this come from?

Oh, Rory. Paying what the Roman had likely thought to be a last kindness as Amy watched with tears in her eyes. He hated to do this to them, hated to lie, and mostly hated to have led them up to that roof as bait. But he'd been sure back then that they wouldn't be hurt, otherwise he would have never left them. Him from the future—who was now him in the present—had given him that consolation at least.

"A future of about half an hour, that's nice," the Doctor muttered to himself, recalling his earlier words to the Centurion with a bitter laugh that turned into more of a ragged cough. That Dalek had taken more out of him than he thought. And he was wasting his twelve minutes.

The Doctor half-stumbled, half-crawled back into the room containing the Pandorica, dragging himself up and into the seat he had only so recently fought against residing in. Fortunately, the restraints didn't automatically clamp down on him, he wasn't sure he'd be able to take that again so soon. That and he needed to be able to move.

"Ok…" he pulled out the sonic, activating it at the ceiling of the box and sliding open a panel and pulling out bundles of wires, trailing them down and over one of the arms of the hard, metal chair. Next he opened up the inner workings of River's vortex manipulator. He just knew he'd be in for it for this one.

The Doctor tried not to think any more about River, the way she'd held him as he lay in agony on the floor—how natural her hand had felt sliding into his hair, like it belonged there, and it was there often—and tried not to worry about how betrayed she'd likely felt when he vanished right from under her hands. Not to mention how Amy and Rory were going to feel when they realized he'd lied about dying.

Well, they wouldn't have to be angry at him for long. And if he finished before they found out, they never would be angry. They'd just think he was dead and that was better, wasn't it? They wouldn't even think he was dead, they wouldn't think of him at all, once he completed his task.

No, best not to think on that. Time was of the essence and there wasn't enough of it left for second-guessing or cowardice.

But if he could just get this done…none of it would matter. That was something to work for, right? He'd connected most of the wires now, but his breath was becoming more and more labored, his eyes sliding shut of their own accord, and the Doctor felt the world tilt sideways as he slumped in the chair. He was just…so…tired.

**So yeah, just found this sitting amongst all my files and I figured some of you might like to read it. Thanks for taking the time to read, and please review!**


End file.
